


Asleep

by Naemi



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergent, Drama, Gen, Sadness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-24
Updated: 2014-04-24
Packaged: 2018-01-20 15:37:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1515797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naemi/pseuds/Naemi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe, he thinks, he can tell them himself. Later. Maybe, he thinks, there <i>is</i> a later.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Asleep

**Author's Note:**

> [This is going canon divergent after 3.19, so possible spoilers through this episode.]
> 
> Important warning in the end notes. However, it spoils the story.

 

_Sing me to sleep._  
 _I don't want to wake up_  
 _On my own anymore._

_[The Smiths: Asleep]_  
~ ~ ~

Isaac trails his fingers along the railing as he shuffles up the stairs. Every step sets him aflame, yet the smile on his lips is reflected in his eyes, although they're rimmed in gold. He's home, finally home. That's all he wanted.

Melissa rounds the corner from the living room, her movements just as slow. It pains his heart to know that he caused her—them—so much worry.

She stops at the bottom of the staircase. Her eyes, unsteady and unfocused, dart toward him, as if they can't decide whether or not to acknowledge his presence, but her features soften and a breathless sigh escapes her lips.

Isaac's smile crumbles as Scott calls for her in a voice that doesn't sound like him. Irritated, Isaac wipes at his face to keep the guilt from showing. He forces his gaze ahead of him. The stairs seem never ending.

“Mom? We're running late,” Scott says, jangling his keys. The sound hurts Isaac's hearing.

“I just . . . I thought . . . ”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes.”

The sound of her footsteps fades, mixing with Scott's as they leave the house. The door clicking shut sounds final, leaving Isaac alone with the silence, but he knows they'll be back soon. He wonders if he should have gone with them. It would have been nice to see them all again, but he's sure he couldn't handle the emotion overload.

In his room, Isaac strips. He folds his clothes neatly and puts them on the foot of the bed before shuffling to Scott's bathroom. Ever since his ice bath, he can't seem to get warm again, and thus he turns the water as hot as possible. The small room steams up almost instantly, and Isaac wipes the mirror to stare at his blurred reflection. The scars haven't healed, never will, but apart from that, he thinks he looks the same. There's no difference between the teenager that lived with his abusive father and the werewolf that barely got to live.

A sigh parts Isaac's lips. The moisture glues his hair to his head, and he runs his uninjured hand through his curls. There's nothing he can do. All his chances to become a better person slipped through his fingers like the beads of a rosary: acknowledged, but not taken seriously. Now, he's reached the last of his unanswered prayers.

The water should burn, but Isaac doesn't feel anything aside from a tingle that creeps up his scars. He scrubs himself so thoroughly that he's afraid he might break the skin, but the hospital smell clings to him, disease and death, and it disgusts him. It's like he absorbed it during his coma, like it's become part of his natural scent. Either that, or Isaac's sense of smell just can't let go of the memory.

He stands under the spray for a good while, head lowered, fists clenched, until the water turns cold, then he dries himself and pads back to his room where he dons his favorite sweatpants and a shirt that once belonged to his brother. Exhaustion tugs at his senses, making the simple act of getting dressed seem like an unfamiliar task.

Although Isaac longs to curl in on himself and sleep, he knows he can't allow himself to rest yet. He may not get another chance to say what needs to be said; he may never find the courage again. Thus, he sits down cross-legged on his bed, a pad of paper in his lap. The words don't come easy—he's never been good with words—but they do come, eventually, even if sheet after sheet ends up crumpled on the floor before he's somewhat content with the outcome. Maybe, he thinks, he can tell them himself. Later. Maybe, he thinks, there _is_ a later. It wouldn't surprise him, yet he doesn't count on it.

Tears prick the corners of his eyes as he walks to Melissa's room and places one letter on her pillow. It hurts knowing she's cried because of him, and that there's nothing he can do. He wanted to be a good boy, wanted to be the foster son she deserved, but he failed miserably. She was the mother he'd missed for so many years, a safe haven, accepting him into her little family when she really didn't need to. Like a stray cat, like an abandoned puppy that no one wanted, he'd crawled to the McCall home, roughed up and beaten, and he never managed to put into words how grateful he really was for their kindness. Melissa knew—Isaac thinks she knows everything, anyway—but he still wishes he'd told her himself.

He trails his fingertips over the letter, rearranges it twice before he thinks it's positioned properly. Neat black letters form Melissa's name; Isaac put a lot of effort into his handwriting.

Closing the door behind him almost causes him physical pain, but entering Scott's room again isn't much better. In fact, he can't bear to walk over the threshold just yet, knowing it's probably the last time. His scars itch as if they disapprove, and he scratches his arm absent-mindedly. He's got three more letters to go. The one for Derek is the shortest, but that's okay. His former Alpha doesn't need many words. The one for Allison is longer and somewhat confusing.

Isaac rewrote that one the most.

Saying goodbye to her wasn't as hard as he expected, but what made him stumble was the uncertainty of how much she would miss him. How much she really likes him. He can't even tell how much he likes her at this point. All he knows is that he wishes they could have spent what little time they had together in a better way. Without the nogitsune issue, especially, and without electrified windows and Chris probably disliking him enough to shoot him in the knee if he tried anything.

But as it is, Isaac didn't make confessions. It's too late, anyway, and he doesn't want to upset her further. It's not like he can change it. It's not like he's got much of a choice.

Taking a tentative step forward, Isaac holds his breath, prepared for the tears that will claim him. They don't. Two more steps let him cross Scott's room, and before his shaky hand can betray him, the letters for Allison and Derek find their spots on the desk beside the keyboard where Scott can't miss them.

The last letter is for Scott, and it contains the most honesty Isaac's ever allowed to slip. He places it on the pillow, much like he did with Melissa's, but it doesn't satisfy him. The pain he felt before crescendos as he looks down on his last testament of friendship. The one that counts. The one that he can't leave lying by itself because it rips his heart out thinking how much he owes Scott, how much more than only some black ink on white paper he ought to give him before his final departure.

Isaac sits on the bed, eyes fixed on Scott's name in his own handwriting, and the memories flood him unfiltered. The good and the bad, the ordinary and extraordinary. This time, the tears conquer him, burning his skin like acid. Isaac doesn't even bother to wipe them away.

“I'm sorry,” he whispers with a broken voice, hands clenching into fists of regret. “I'm sorry I wasn't what you needed me to be,” although Scott can't hear it, although he wrote it all down, anyway. How much he always craved his approval. How much he loves him, in so many ways.

Before he realizes it, Isaac finds himself curled up right there, the letter clutched tightly in one hand, his face buried in Scott's pillow that smells so thoroughly like him. He cries and cries until the salt of his tears is etched into the down, until he thinks it will never go away again. Isaac hopes Scott won't mind too much.

As the attack subsides into dry sobs, Isaac wonders if he can just stay here. If Scott will see him upon his return, or if he'll be gone, already. He can't think of any better place to lie down and sleep. Scott's lingering presence soothes Isaac's fear so much that he almost embraces his fate. If he ever was ready, it is now.

Scott will return soon after Isaac's gone to sleep. He will find his room smelling of his friend without knowing why, and he will curl up just like Isaac did, in the same space. His pillow will feel damp, but he won't notice with the tears he sheds.

All he knows is that his mom's stifled sobs that sound from her own room break his heart, and that Isaac is gone.

Isaac is gone.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Warning:** major character death.
> 
>  **A/N:** I'm not saying that I would have preferred Death By Puddle over canon, but . . . just the idea of sending Isaac off to some-fucking-where (France, yeah, I get it) makes me angry. He's been pushed around more than enough, thank you very much.
> 
> Beta'd by the wonderful **Moit** , who also made sure that all characters were returned unharmed.
> 
> [Feedback is love.]


End file.
